


On the Scent

by alexxphoenix42



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Implied sexy times, Johnlock Roulette, Longest Week Drabble Fest, M/M, Pre-relationship to relationship, Scent Kink, Scenting, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexxphoenix42/pseuds/alexxphoenix42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John loves the way Sherlock smells - I mean REALLY loves it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Scent

Sherlock smelled amazing. John had noticed it shortly after agreeing to move in with the man. It wasn’t enough that the poncy bastard swanned about like a jungle cat in his form-fitting bespoke suits, or spoke with a rolling voice deep enough to raise gooseflesh up the back of John’s neck … and GOD, then there was HIS neck. No, it wasn’t enough that Sherlock had an elegant curve of a neck that went on forever connecting broad shoulders to that elegant jaw line. Nope. On top of it all, he had to smell like sodding sex on a platter whenever John got close enough to breathe him in.

Of course there was all that product Sherlock put in his hair. The mad genius acted as if he woke up with those lovely diffused curls framing his face just so, but John had seen him roll out of bed with his hair matted up one side too many times to be fooled. Sherlock’s head smelled of coconuts and tropical flowers on any given day, but when he got himself decked up for a case with that subtle spicy cologne that probably cost more than every hair or skin care product John owned combined, it was sheer torture. Of course it wasn’t even the scents that Sherlock put on that drove him spare. John had tried sniffing a number of the dark bottles that lined the shower, and though the pricey stuff smelled nice, it didn’t have that kick that made John go weak at the knees. No, it was some black magic chemistry between Harrod’s bath gel and pure essence of Sherlock that John had grown utterly addicted to.

More and more often, he found himself hovering next to Sherlock as they waited on doorsteps or stood in elevators much closer than was _strictly_ necessary just to inhale a good hit of the man when he thought he wasn’t paying attention. John literally couldn’t help himself. He had some pride though. He’d allow one good sniff then force himself to move back before Sherlock caught him lingering, or his control snapped, and he simply grabbed the infuriating man to bury his nose in his nape and just breathe.

John had it bad. He hated to admit it, but he craved the smell of Sherlock. If he had to go away on a conference, or his flatmate faffed off on a case alone for a few days, John experienced actual withdrawal pains without his daily whiff of Sherlock. It was getting worse, and John had no idea what to do about it. Sherlock might exist in the material world long enough to splash on his expensive scent, and wash his lovely locks, but then he was back off in the realm of the mind as soon as possible leaving John far behind. It was pathetic really, but John was mooning after Sherlock like some bloody teenager. He knew that his flatmate couldn’t possibly return his growing affections, and he struggled to find some peace about it. Soon enough though, John and his hand were making regular appointments at his morning shower time, and if a little of Sherlock's shampoo got into the arrangement, well that was really no one else’s business, was it?

Things might have limped along this way somewhat indefinitely if they hadn’t ended up stuck inside that cupboard one night breathing as quietly as possible whilst the suspect banged about the bedroom looking for that lost pen. Sherlock had silently texted Lestrade as soon as the man had appeared, and it was only a waiting game until the police arrived. Sherlock's natural scent was beyond incredible in the confines of the small space. With the additional sharp note of adrenalin laced into the musky sweat clinging to his person, Sherlock smelled like the olfactory equivalent of a siren song beckoning John’s sensitive nose ever closer. It took all John had to keep his hands and nostrils under control, and not go seeking out the detective like iron filings jumping to a magnet. He managed a whole interminable five minutes holding himself utterly rigid, hands clenched tightly at his sides until the perp had stomped off to the living room to continue his clumsy search there.

Later, John would admit that he quite lost his mind at that point. He'd flung himself at Sherlock, seizing the man to press his hot face against the hollow of that gorgeous neck, and he had not only inhaled, he had _licked_ for christsake. Sherlock had squeaked in surprise, and cold horror had washed over John as he realized the huge cock up he had just made, ruining a perfectly good friendship until Sherlock’s large hands had slid around him, and the tall man hugged him back. When the police finally stormed in, Donovan had been the one to find them madly snogging in the closet, shirt buttons half undone, and bite marks all over their necks. The jokes about coming out of the closet had circulated around New Scotland Yard for endless months, but John was honestly too shagged out to really give much of a damn about it. 

They’d spent nearly two whole days in bed after the "Closet Caper" as John termed it, and as John lay slicked with sweat and near boneless draped over Sherlock sometime around tea time and they were debating what to order for dinner, John had asked him. Surely Sherlock had noticed John smelling him at some point hadn’t he? _I thought you just fancied my shampoo,_ Sherlock had said with a small shrug. _You certainly used enough of it in the bath._ They’d both laughed when John told him what he’d been using the shampoo for, and the giggles had turned into heated kisses, and it had been several hours before they finally made it to a phone and dialed for dinner from the Purple Orchid. John loved their fragrant pad thai, and Sherlock was more than happy to indulge John’s intelligent nose.


End file.
